[Little Viktor]
As I watch myself develop into an 18-month-old baby, I often find myself feeling a bit confused. Even though I should be accustomed to chatting, I find myself only able to express simple thoughts in a restricted manner. Surprisingly, this has made those around me feel a sense of pride.
I can't help but feel a bit guilty, especially when they flash that warm smile right before diving into conversations about my bright future. I can't help but wonder if my parents in my first life experienced the same feelings when I came into the world as their child.
I can still picture that gloomy and dull house in my mind. The place felt eerily empty, with the only sound coming from the TV that was perpetually left on, flickering in the dim light. If you just strolled in through the entrance, you'd spot my dad lounging on the sofa, a few beers already spread out across the table.
If you take a stroll around, you might just come across my mom tucked away in the corner, softly mumbling to herself in a way that's hard to understand. It's really not as bad as it sounds. Typically, you'll find her sprawled out on the floor, clutching the same beer, with a few antidepressant pills scattered around from the bottle.
People often jump to the conclusion that their condition is serious.
But I have to say, they don't always behave this way. There are times when my mom seems completely normal. She'll greet me with a warm, friendly smile as I walk in the door after a long day at work.
When it comes to my father, he's really just a dedicated hard worker. He puts in all the hard work for a salary that just doesn't match the effort, so it's no wonder he feels lazy when he gets home. Honestly, I can't blame him if he wants to treat himself to a beer with his hard-earned cash.
Over time, he's become way too comfortable using alcohol to cope with his stress, and it's led to an addiction. I'm aware that he tends to spend more cash than he brings in, all just to grab some beer.
The issue comes up when my mom, unable to tolerate the quality of life her family is experiencing, starts to feel overwhelmed by excessive stress. This leads her to rely on medications that provide only a short-lived sense of calm.
"Hey little Viktor, why are you so quiet? Come on over! If you take too long, they might just vanish, you know."
I shifted my focus back to what lay right in front of me. My mother, sitting on the bed, kept calling me over, her hand reaching out toward me again and again.
At that moment, I suddenly noticed that her shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing her bare breasts. Not much has changed. They still have that soft, pure white look that I like. However, they've also grown bigger, and the areola circle has widened as well.
You can't hold that against me. I've tried a bunch of different methods to keep my mind clear, and honestly, most of them have worked pretty well. It's just that when I completely lose my cool, I tend to bite them or suck on them a bit too hard.
"Ma... milk... I want to drink milk," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed but still pushing through. I just want to make sure my pronunciation is on point and, more importantly, that I'm conveying the right meaning.
"That's right, I'm your mother. You are just the most adorable little Viktor," my mother said, her voice bright and cheerful. Perhaps she got a bit too swept up in her feelings because before I knew it, she had scooped me up and plopped me right onto her lap, completely derailing my efforts.
Thanks to the love and care my parents provided, I can confidently say that I didn't grow up malnourished in this home. My body developed in a healthy and normal way, but I'm curious about how far I can push my body. I want to keep things straightforward by making it a habit to walk more often using my feet.
"Mmhh... you're quite the little glutton, aren't you, little Viktor? How is it that those tiny teeth of yours can bite down with such strength?"
When my mother asked me that question, I didn't feel like answering it, even though I could have. Instead, I wondered why she seemed so aroused during each breastfeeding session.
I began to reflect on my thoughts and feelings.
Am I doing too much?
Even if my fingers were to pinch her nipples, it would just feel like a tiny ant bite to her. And for me, the one doing the biting, shouldn't she, as a mother, not have some unusual thoughts about that? It seems like a reasonable expectation, doesn't it?
I brushed it off pretty quickly. I found it much more enjoyable to sort through the information swirling around in my mind. My mother's soft, occasional moans were like a gentle background melody, while the milk she provided was simply there to satisfy my thirst.
As my father walked through the door, my mother was just wrapping up the task of putting her clothes in order. I felt a twinge of worry when I noticed her still trying to catch her breath, her cheeks still flushed from whatever had just happened. Thankfully, my father seemed utterly oblivious to it all and didn't suspect a thing.
"Viktor, I got you something special. Could you please welcome me with a hug?"
In the past, I would just lie in bed, counting the minutes until my father arrived. But this time felt different. I was able to get up, step out of the room, and throw my arms wide open to greet him.
I nearly overlooked this, but just in case you missed it. My father calls me by my name, straightforward and direct. On the other hand, my mother always adds 'little' at the beginning, treating me like her most cherished angel.
Just from that, you can get a sense of their nature and background. But I also know that their love for me is just as strong, if not stronger, beyond all of that. I can't let my mother keep spoiling me all the time. I need a strong presence like my father to remind me that life isn't just about the sweet moments. there are also tough times ahead that I need to be prepared for.
"Check it out! This time, I brought you a sheep. Isn't it just the cutest thing? Look at this," my father exclaimed with pride as he revealed what he was holding.
The sheep he was referring to wasn't a living creature at all. It was an inanimate object. More specifically, it was a small piece of wood, intricately carved to resemble a sheep, perfectly sized to fit in the palm of his hand.
Since my father is a blacksmith, I can confidently say he has a natural talent for crafts like this. He even included details like a bell hanging from the goat's neck, and I can totally picture the curly fur in this wood carving as if it were alive.
"Sheep... so cute... I love it..." As I held the gift in one hand, I reached out to my father with the other, and he swiftly grasped my wish with a knowing smile.
Out of nowhere, I had this feeling of being a giant. my mother, who stands at 165 cm, suddenly seemed so much shorter than me. All of this was possible when my father let me climb up and sit on his neck. The first time I did it, I quickly discovered just how great that vantage point was.
I could easily see the entire house, including spots that had always been out of my view, like the top of the cupboard and those high shelves mounted on the wall.
"So, you dig it, huh, Viktor? You just can't stop giggling, can you?"
I didn't intend to make that strange sound, but to convince my father to let me stay on his neck a bit longer, I faked a giggle. I even played with the wooden sheep toy he had given me, balancing it on his head while my eyes took in everything around me, sorting through the details in my mind.
"Alright, sweetie, little Viktor just wrapped up his meal, and if you keep him sitting there too long, he might end up tossing it all back up."
Thanks to my mother's meddling, I was carried down. It definitely took a few seconds longer than it had in the past, and I was pretty satisfied with that.
"How's your work going? Is everything running smoothly?" My mother asked, her expression calm and collected, just a wife eager to hear her husband's tale after a long day at work.
"As always, the villagers continue to depend on my skills as a blacksmith. It's just that..."
Noticing her husband's hesitation to carry on with his story, my mother felt a wave of concern wash over her. She quickly urged him to keep going, eager to hear what came next. She even made an annoyed face, which I'm pretty sure was just to push him even more.